


Don't Take Them Off.

by ifishouldvanish



Series: Gold On The Soles Of Her Shoes [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Humor, shoe fetishism, sub!Gold, woobie!Gold
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-09-02
Packaged: 2018-08-12 15:24:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7939657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifishouldvanish/pseuds/ifishouldvanish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mr Gold is about to get lucky after a date with town librarian Belle French-- as long as his nerves don't get in the way.</p><p>A little prequel of sorts for <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/7931353">A Dedicated Follower of Fashion</a>. In case you were wondering how Gold discovered his affinity for shoes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Take Them Off.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Of_Princes_and_Savages](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Of_Princes_and_Savages/gifts).



> Because sub!Gold with a shoe fetish was just too much fun to write.

 

Belle draped her arms around his shoulders and backed him against the wall of her apartment. Mr Gold wasn’t sure where all this handsiness was coming from. Well, no— not exactly. He wasn’t too daft to understand what sort of activities typically followed an invitation inside a lady’s apartment at such an hour as this. He was more in a state of denial, if anything.

“You...” she murmured seductively, _“are so cute.”_

Mr Gold chuckled awkwardly. “I’ve been called many things, dearie,” he snickered, “but cute is not—”

Her lips crashed into his, cutting him off. Unfortunately, he was too utterly gobsmacked by it to return the favor. Her tongue flicked over his lip and he barely managed to loosen up enough to let her in. He wanted to pull her close and savor every moment of her in his mouth, but instead his state of surprise left him a passive participant. She pulled away and nibbled at her lip, trying to fight back a smile, but failing miserably at it.

It had been about a decade since Mr Gold had been on a proper date, let alone one that went half as well as this seemed to be going. He’d been weary about the whole thing from the moment his friend Jefferson told him, “I think I know the _perfect_ woman for you, Rum.” And he’d become a stammering, blushing mess from the moment he found out said woman was Belle French— the feisty librarian who was certainly too young, too kind, and too beautiful to possibly be interested in spending a minute of her time with the likes of _him_. The same Belle French he’d secretly been mooning over since she’d first visited his shop several months ago.

“I want to fuck you,” Belle giggled, pulling him from his wandering thoughts.

“...Y-You _do?_ ” He asked, hoping he sounded more flirtatious than skeptical.

Belle nodded enthusiastically. “Mhmm. Look at you—” She said, booping his nose with her forefinger. “So cute, in your little suit.”

Mr Gold didn’t know how to respond to that, so he just settled for looking down at his shirt and scoffing.

His _little suit_ was his armor. The thing that made it possible for him to face the world and live up to his reputation as the ruthless landlord the town feared. Without it, he was just a lonely, anxious, pathetic, little man with crooked teeth and a pronounced limp. Here he had his armor on and she thought it made him look _cute_? Even more unsettling was how some part of him was actually delighted by this fact. His heart was singing in his chest, _she thinks you’re cute!_

“...Ah,” he eked out. “Thank you.”

“I can't wait to _take it off,”_ Belle nearly growled, clutching the lapels of his jacket and wiggling her brows.

He probably would have taken a step back, had he not already been pressed against the wall. Mr Gold couldn’t remember the last time anyone was this close to his face, let alone in well, such pleasant a context as this. “I think,” he began, holding a trembling finger up in the air. He could hold his own in a heated debate against the bloody mayor, yet Belle French made him nervous. Delightfully nervous. “Perhaps someone’s had a few too many—”

“Do you think I could have made it up here in these things if I was drunk?!” Belle asked. She looked down at the ridiculously high heels she was wearing and bent one calf up so he could see.

His brows hiked up at the sight of them. “No... I ah, suppose not, Miss French.”

“Do I _sound_ like I’m drunk?” She asked.

“Well—” That wasn’t an easy thing to measure, Gold thought. While the amount of giddiness she was displaying would certainly qualify _him_ as downright pished, he was was fairly certain Miss French required a very different metric. She had, for one thing, proven herself far more prone to smiles and fits of giggles than he was over the course of the evening.

“...No.” He finally answered, his gaze fixed on her shoes again. Damn, they were impressive. The bright blue suede. The five inch spikes.

She stretched up and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “So you uh, have any condoms, handsome?”

Mr Gold felt his ears grow hot as she said that word. _Condoms._ Gods, he felt like a teenager again. He bought himself a moment by studying the condition of the suede on her shoes. They definitely weren't new, but they were in excellent condition nonetheless. He'd spent enough time restoring antique furniture to know what well cared-for suede ought to look like, and he was seeing it right there on her feet.

Gold cleared his throat. “Well this ah, is a wee bit embarrassing, but it’s… been a while for me, dear.” He confessed, glancing away and waiting for a reaction.

After a brief— though certainly not brief enough— silence, Belle blurted, “That’s okay!” She bounced on her toes and smiled brightly. “I uh, planned for this.” She assured.

Mr Gold eased his shoulders and sighed in relief. “...Did you now?”

“Yup!” She chirped. Belle began walking backwards to the counter for her purse, dragging him along with her. The two of them waddled across the apartment clumsily like partners in a three-legged race, eventually bumping into the edge of the counter. Belle shoved an arm into her purse, feeling around the various compartments. Her face suddenly lit up and she pulled her hand out of the bag, holding up a little foil square that glinted in the dim light. “...See?”

“Aye, look at that.” Gold said, embarrassed by how genuinely impressed he sounded.

_God bless._

“Silly little man,” she tutted playfully, booping his nose again. Mr Gold inhaled sharply in response, his heart pumping jubilantly in his chest. “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you.” She cooed.

“I— _okay._ ” It was the best he could do.

“Come! Bedroom!” She grasped his hand and lured him deeper into her in fact not-very-deep-at-all apartment. Her room was a mess, the sheets strewn all over the bed, clothes scattered all over the floor. Eventually the backs of his thighs bumped against the foot of the bed, throwing him off balance for a moment. Belle tucked the condom between her lips and pulled her dress up over her head, adding it the rest of the mess on the floor.

Her bra and panties matched. They were nude, lacey, delicate, and embroidered with little white flowers along the edges. The little balconette cups had an impressive three-part construction that gave her the kind of cleavage he’d previously thought only existed in Hollywood movies and magazines not worth the cheap 45gsm paper they were printed on. Mr Gold was pulled from his thoughts when he felt her tug at his jacket.

Belle was hastily peeling his clothes off layer by layer. It made him feel incredibly vulnerable, but in a startlingly pleasant way he hadn’t experienced before. He watched her fingers as they made quick work of his jacket and waistcoat, but she suddenly stopped short when she reached his tie. Her lips pursed in contemplation for a moment as she stared at it.

_Fuck._

Did he do something wrong?

Not do something right?

Gold cleared his throat. “...what is it, Miss French?”

She pat her hand over his tie for a moment and smiled. “Let’s— let’s keep the tie.” She said, sliding the clip off and letting it clatter onto the wood floor. Gripping the length of silk again, she stretched up to his ear and whispered, “I uh, might find a use for it later.”

_Jesus Christ._

Belle continued her work, unfastening his belt, and Gold couldn’t help his body’s response. With his pants unzipped and his boxers tugged down, she squat down in her heels to roll the condom up his length, her legs spread wide and open to him.

_Jesus fucking Christ._

“You ready, handsome?” She asked, rising back up with far more grace Gold expected for someone wearing what were effectively stilts on her feet.

He nodded slightly, still not entirely convinced that this was actually happening.

“Good!” Belle shoved him back with both hands, knocking him down onto the mattress. She glanced over him and wet her lips. “I’m going to make you _all_ mine tonight, baby.”

Mr Gold wasn't quite sure what _being made all hers_ entailed, but it sounded promising.

Belle slid her panties past her hips, down her thighs, and to her ankles before stepping out of them and climbing on top of him. She hadn’t even bothered to take off her shoes. He couldn't blame her though, really. They were strappy things that probably would take a good moment of effort to remove, he figured. However, the long spike heels made the whole process a little awkward, snagging the sheets and jabbing into his thighs as her weight shifted from side to side while she made herself comfortable. Mr Gold grimaced and let out a grunt as they dug into him.

Belle drew back with a worried expression. “Oh God! Are you okay?”

 _Great._ She probably thought he was having a heart attack, old bastard that he was.

No, no. He was perfectly fine. He’d definitely have bruises though, and he smiled inwardly at the thought. _Bruises from the night he spent with Belle French._

“Your shoes, dearie.” He explained.

“Oh!” Belle giggled and looked down at her feet. “Getting a little ahead of myself, aren’t I? Hang on a sec, lemme—”

She began reaching for one of the delicate straps on her ankles, and Mr Gold felt his heart beginning to sink to his stomach. The words jumped out before he could stop them.

“No, no, no, no— Don’t take them off.”

Belle froze, gaping back up at him in confusion. “... _What?”_

An excellent question. What the _hell_ did he just say? Where did it come from?

“What— what did you just say?” Belle asked again.

Mr Gold was about ninety-nine percent certain whatever was going on between them, he’d just completely ruined it, as he did most things. That wasn't a, “Sorry, I didn't hear you, could you repeat that,” _what did you say._ No, no— It was definitely a, “I heard you, but could you repeat it just so I can make sure I'm not out of my bloody mind?” _what did you say_.

“Don’t… take them off?” He repeated hesitantly and Belle's brows knit together. “...I ah—” He was cringing at his own words, but he couldn’t stop himself. He swallowed and finished his sentence. “...I like them.”

Mr Gold clenched his eyes shut. Well, it wasn't a lie. He _did_ like them. But it wasn't like he was some kind of pervert or anything like that. They were just nice shoes. And Miss French had nice legs. Very nice, toned legs. But it didn't matter what his explanation was.  She had to be convinced he was some lonely old pervert by now. The mid-coitus heart attack would’ve been better.

When he finally opened his eyes, he found an amused grin spreading across Belle's face. _Wonderful,_ he thought now. She must have found it hilarious and was doing everything in her power not to burst into laughter right in his face. Probably thinking of the most polite way to excuse herself so she can text her friends about the creepy old man she'd almost slept with. _Gods_ , this was quickly becoming the most embarrassing night of his life.

 _“Mr Gold?”_ She asked cautiously.

“...Y-yes?” He whispered, already bracing himself for what she was about to tell him.

Belle bit down on her lip for a moment, then grasped his tie, tugging on it as she leaned over him, getting right in his face.

She kissed him.

A burning hot, passionate kiss right on the lips. Her tongue dipped into him, and this time he had enough sense about him to reciprocate. She moaned and rolled her hips against him, sliding a hand over his chest. They parted with little gasps and she drove into him again. Her lips were so incredibly soft and slick and plump, and too soon, she was pulling away from him. Gold's eyes fluttered open to find her looking down at him with a cheeky smile.

Belle leaned into his ear and reached a hand down to stroke him. “You're a _naughty_ little man, aren't you, Mr Gold?”

He let out a scoff in disbelief. She was _aroused?_

Mr Gold glanced back down at her heels and immediately felt his cock twitch with anticipation. The length of the heels, the pointed toe, the way the straps wrapped around her ankles, the soft, blue suede. It all excited him.

God damn it. He _was_ a pervert. Yet she was still there, straddling him. Smiling. And she'd just kissed him. Very, very enthusiastically. Perhaps he hadn’t ruined everything after all.

The corner of Gold’s mouth twitched upwards into a lopsided grin, his gold tooth catching the light from the other room. “…Yes, dearie. I ah, suppose I am.” He confessed, hiking his brows.

“Mm… So naughty…” She purred, “I bet you need Miss French to teach you a lesson, don't you, Mr Gold?”

“I—” he scoffed. Well this was new. And making him rock hard for reasons he was going to have to mull over later.

 _“Mr Gold!”_ Belle admonished, pulling him closer by his tie. “You will _answer_ when you're spoken to!”

He shook his head, taking in the sight of her leaning over him. He was completely at her mercy and he didn't mind in the slightest. He glanced down at her heels once again and swallowed. “...Y-yes.” He stammered, darting his eyes back to her face. “I'm… _naughty_ and need to be taught a lesson, Miss French.”


End file.
